


All the world's a stage

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: Dreams often mirror reality. Ianto has a very disturbing dream, perhaps a precursor to something else.





	All the world's a stage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for juliet316 's prompt "any, any, The final curtain call" at fic_promptly

Ianto blinked hard as the bright lights shone in his eyes.

For a moment he was confused. Where was he?

He took in the surroundings, the lights, the red velvet walls, the giant chandelier, the audience in front of him. He was in a theatre, on stage.

How had he come to be here? What was he meant to be doing?

He felt the room spinning, realising he stood on a slowly revolving platform, taking him in and out of the light, sometimes facing the audience, sometimes being forced to turn his back on them.

Two other people in costumes stood equidistant to him on the platform, moving gracefully and languidly to the music. Without knowing why he mirrored their movements, adding to the performance.

When the music faded away instinct told him to make a break for the wings, pushing through the dark folds of curtain and into the darkness of backstage.

He still didn't know why he was here.

He saw Jack, perched at a small desk, a tiny lamp casting strange shadows across his face. In front of him on the desk laid open a script. He frantically grabbed it and began flicking the pages. He seemed to be part of a play but he didn't know the scenes, didn't know the lines.

What was he even doing here? Why did he even care?

Page after page after page he flicked over the words, watching the story unfold before his eyes and yet finding no reference to his character. When had he even known who his character was?

It was strange, as if he felt it without knowing, and yet in knowing it when he saw it, he found it nowhere. The story was was same but different, his character purged from its pages.

Jack sat there blankly, saying nothing. Ianto looked at him expectantly, waiting for some sign that something was very wrong. He'd somehow forgotten that the entire scenario didn't make a shred of sense, getting sucked down into it as if it were reality.

'Jack, it's not here. I'm not here.'

Jack gazed at him strangely in the darknes, as if not seeing him or recognising him. When he spoke his voice was eery and distant.

'The story goes on regardless. The final act has already played out.'

Jack's words sent a chill down his spine. He grabbed the script once more and threw the book open to the final pages and read them aloud. One single line of stage direction.

And he dies upon the ground awash in his own blood.

He dropped the script and stumbled back from the desk. He found it hard to breathe and tried gasping in lungfulls of air. A warmth spread across his chest. When he touched it his hand came away sticky and wet and hot. Even in the darkness he knew it was blood, his blood. He panicked as he stumbled again this time crashing to the floor, his breathing become more and more laboured.

What was happening to him?

Jack walked towards him dispassionately.

'Every story has an end.'

Suddenly Ianto knew what Jack meant. His story. His end.

He choked back on his grief, no longer bothered as to whether this was real or not. As everything began to blur at the edges of his vision, he felt a single tear streak down the side of his face.


End file.
